Boys make you collapse like stars
folding in on themselves.
At night we watch them burning up
beneath the dark off-casts of this city.
At home your mother has a heart attack.
Cracked orange vinyl is a temporary coffin.
Her chamomile is kept warm by blurry
television in starry technicolour.
Ambulances leave soft glows behind them.
I kiss you clinically. Your heart is bubbled.
We sit crossed legged, and you play
with the kaleidoscope. I think you want to cry
but you don't.
Tayi Tibble is a Welington-based poet of Māori descent (Te Whānau-ā-Apanui/Ngāti Porou). She is a third year student at Victoria University where she studies History and Social Policy. She has previously been published in Starling, Mana magazine and Palabras Prestadas.